Disclaimer: Don't own (simple as that!)
A/N: Hey. This is another story which isn't connected to 'Rocks In The Road' (which I will be updating soon). Just a little one piecer, I decided to post up to celebrate the end of the school year! (Yay! A whole summer holiday of freedom) So I finally have more time on my hands to work on my fics. Your feedback is much appreciated, cos it helps me to work out what I need to work at. Well R&R and ENJOY!!! - Bex :o)
~*~*~*~*~
The ice-cold water splashes against your skin and you look up into the mirror, staring at the face you don't remember, yet recognise all at the same time, which gazes hauntingly back. The face is weary and worn - aged beyond the years of its wearer. It belongs to you.
The only source of light in the small bathroom are the fragmented beams of dawn, which have crept through the partially-opened blinds. Fragmented like your life. You're sick of the lies that you tell your daughter whilst they tear you up inside. Sick of the fact that the husband you hated will never have justice for his death. Sick of feeling like a lost little child crying out to be found, but who's desperate pleas fall only on deaf ears. Sick of being alone. Maybe that's what has brought you here.
Your head aches, causing the whole world to spin. You grab hold of the sink to steady yourself. When the motion stops, you do up the last few buttons on your shirt and then turn to face the open door. Turn to look into the bedroom adjacent to the room in which you stand, to look at the unmade bed and the man who still rests in it.
You run a tired hand through your hair. How did this happen? How did you come to be here?
~*~*~*~*~
~*~ Two Nights Ago - 11:30pm ~*~
Unlike the majority of the people in Las Vegas who used the night for sleep, Catherine Willows was living her nightmare. She stared numbly down at the long golden hair that fell chaotically across the floor, the sapphire eyes that were wide with shock and pain, and the small body of the child that lay scrawled lifelessly in an unnatural twist at the bottom of the stairs. All Cath could think of was her little girl: this could have been her.
At the top of the stairs - past the blood splatter that stained the cream walls and carpet - was the mother's body. Her face was mottled with angry dark busies that continued down the rest of her figure. Once blond hair was streaked with crimson blood and her cloudy eyes remained open, glazed in a vacant gaze. She had been beaten to death; her daughter had died from a broken neck caused by the fall down the stairs, and the husband had come home to find them.
It was never meant to be this way.
Cath felt a hand tenderly touch her shoulder and she turned her head to be met by two concerned blue eyes. "You alright?"
She gave Grissom a curt nod and turned back to look at the corpse. The young girl's resemblance to Lindsey caused a stab of pain to her heart.
"Maybe you shouldn't handle this case." Grissom suggested gently as if he knew exactly what was going through her mind.
Her eyes snapped back to face him with an irritated expression.
"I'm fine Grissom," She insisted firmly. "I can handle this case. I want this case."
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He knew how stubborn she was. Truth being, she would continue to work on the case whether she had his blessing or not. And this was what bothered him: the fact that she was determined to face the things he wanted to protect her from.
"Where's the husband now?" She asked, ignoring his obvious disapproval of her persistence.
"Mr Beckett is on his way to the station with Brass so we can get a statement." Grissom told her.
"Poor guy," Cath muttered, "Imagine coming home to this."
"Are you positive you can handle this?" Grissom questioned again. She glared at him, but before she could snap angrily at him, he placed his hands steadily on her shoulders. "I'm only asking as a friend Cath. I know cases involving kids upset you and I don't want you to be."
She smiled softly at him, touched by his concern. "I'll be fine Gris." She pulled back and slipped on her latex gloves. "Come on. Let's catch the asshole who did this."
~*~*~*~*~
You stand in the doorway watching the shattered light dance on his peaceful face. He looks so boyish and carefree when he sleeps - a far cry from the man you know.
You think about the concern in his voice and eyes that night. Concern and something else you didn't recognise at the time, but now you do: pity. Pity like he showed you last night. Pity is what made him open that door. Pity is what made him let you in. Only pity.
How did this happen? How did you come to be here?
~*~*~*~*~
Catherine grimly inspected the pictures of the crime scene again. The pain and fear in both of the victims' eyes haunted her. Reminded her. Doctor Robbins concluded from the autopsy that the girl was the first to die, then the mother. Maybe the girl had been knocked down the stair after rushing to help her mother. Maybe her mother had been rushing to help her. But that's all they had: maybe this and maybe that, nothing solid. Nothing to bring justice. She sighed heavily and ran a tired hand through her hair. Why hadn't they caught the guy yet?
"You alright?" She turned to face the owner of the voice, this time to be met with brown eyes. They had just as much concern as the blue ones, but Warrick's always looked at her differently from Grissom's - it was hard to explain.
She forced a nod. "I will be as soon as we catch the guy who did this."
Warrick stared over her shoulder at the pictures and shared her bleak _expression. "We will Cath." Then he gently squeezed her arm. "If you want to talk or if you need me, you know where I am," he told her.
Cath managed a weak smile and nodded in response. Satisfied, he left. This was always the difference between him and Grissom; the way Warrick was able to understand and express human emotions.
~*~*~*~*~
You rethink that thought. Is it true? Maybe Grissom doesn't reveal his emotions because he feels he has to be the strong one. But when it counts, when it really matters, he puts away the blank mask and shows just how much he cares.
He's usually right, too, and you hate that. You know he was definitely right when he told you to wait for him before returning to the crime scene. But did you listen? Now look what's happened.
How did this happen? How did you come to be here?
~*~*~*~*~
Catherine eased the Tahoe into the driveway and shut off the ignition. She sat in the front seat, perfectly still, just staring at the house in front of her. It looked different now in the light of day, and yet completely the same as the night before. The same sinister atmosphere surrounds it like a warning to the horrors trapped inside. She unfastened the seat belt and slid out the vehicle. After taking a deep breath, she braced herself to go back inside.
Soft light fluttered in through gaps in the curtains, making the hall glow eerily. There had to be clue, something to lead her to the killer, and Cath was convinced that it was here. All she had to do was find it.
Something guided her up the stairs - past the reminders of the events belonging to the previous night - and to the door at the end of the landing.
She gently pushed the door open and stared at the lilac walls. The bed was neatly made, as if waiting to be slept in. Soft toys and other tiny treasures were organised in different places around the room. Cath couldn't help but think of her daughter's room, still graced with life, unlike this one.
Without thinking, she sat down on the bed. The action caused the bed to move and knock something from its hiding place under the pillow. Curiously, Cath looked down on the floor and found a plain blue note book lying there. She picked it up and carefully opened it.
The first thing she noticed was the words 'PRIVET' written in large letters on the top page. She ignored this word and continued on to the next page. It hadn't taken Catherine long to realise that this was the deceased girl's diary; pages filled with her inner most thoughts and feelings.
Something in the sea of writing caught her attention: 'I hate him. He thinks I don't know why mum's face is always covered in bruises, why she always sobs herself to sleep, why I hear constant screams from down the corridor when ever he comes home drunk. How wrong he is."
Catherine reread the words, then repeated the actions. She felt nausea begin to rise from the bottom of her stomach as she anxiously read on to find more entries like this. Then she froze.
There was an entry, the last one, with yesterday's date at the top. Her mind screamed at her to stop, but she needed to know. No matter what the truth may do; she had to know it.
"We're leaving. He had a bad day and as usual he's taken it out on mum, and then went out drinking. But she's had enough. I've just finished packing my bag and any moment now I'm gonna hear her call me to leave here for good. I'm so happy that it's hard to explain. Goodbye dad. Thanks for nothing and I hope you rot in hell. Oh Christ! The front door just slammed. He can't be back, not now."
Her final words. Words that placed all the pieces together. Cath's head spun as she imagined that girl running out of her room towards her mother's cries, then being hit and falling backwards down the stairs as she tried to help her. Falling into darkness.
Catherine's head snapped up at the sound of the door opening. She expected to see Grissom; instead she was greeted by two cold eyes. Cold eyes that belong to Mr Beckett. Her blood turned to ice and she quickly tried to hide the diary. But it was too late; he'd already seen it.
His cold eyes darkened dangerously in anger as he advanced towards her. She clutched to book desperately and backed away into the corner. No escape now. That was when the first blow came. It snapped her neck to one side, bringing her to her knees. She shakily touched her stinging left cheek and stared up at him with fearful wide eyes. The same eyes as his wife and child. The same eyes as his previous victims.
And as she looked panicked up at him, she saw someone else. She saw Eddie. She saw memories of nights so many years ago being played out in front of her. Catherine could feel the immense fear and helplessness as she huddled in the corner waiting for the next blow. Wondering how many more she could take before it killed her. Thinking about how death maybe was her only way out.
But the next blow never came. Instead the door slammed opened and someone shoved him against the wall. "Freeze," Brass' voice roared, as he pointed his gun square with Mr Beckett head as Grissom held him against the wall. The rage in his eyes disappeared as he glanced down at the figure curled in a small ball in the corner.
Catherine wasn't aware of what was going on. Everything else had faded out as she remained paralysed to the spot. Just waiting, like she always used to, for the next blow. Followed by the next. After what seemed like a lifetime, she realised that someone was calling her name.
"Catherine?"
She looked cautiously up to be greeted by Grissom worried gaze.
"It's OK now," He reassured her. "Are you OK?"
~*~*~*~*~
Are you OK? What kind of a question was that? You think it was quite obvious that you were not OK, but when you gave him that feebly nod, he dropped it. He let you leave in that state. Leave alone. And of course you did what came naturally.
How did this happen? How did you come to be here?
~*~*~*~*~
Catherine stumbled more then walked along the path. Inside the bar she had just sat numbly by herself, as she tried to drown out the flashbacks with vodka. God, she loved that stuff. Of course she didn't have to be alone if she didn't want to be; many of the men there approached her after a few moments of working up the courage or deciding what dodgy chat up line to use this time. But she knew that their company would solve nothing, not the torture nor the loneliness. So she declined their offers; at the beginning of the binge with a polite 'I'm not in the mood for company right now', then, after quite a few more rounds, with 'Fuck off'.
And now she meandered uncertainly down the familiar route, leading her to the place she always went when she was like this. To her sanctuary.
She battled the doorbell for a couple of moments, the resulted to banging loudly on the door. The door opened after an extended pause.
Grissom stare, bleary eyed, at the woman on his door step; naked from waist up and his hair still ruffled from sleep.
He smelled the alcohol first, then his eyes widened when he registered who it was. "Catherine?"
"The one and only," She replied, her voice slurred. "Are you gonna lemme in or wha?"
Grissom stepped aside to let her enter, then caught her by the arms as she tripped over the step. She giggled drunkenly and he helped her stagger to the couch. Without any resistance, she flopped down and he sank down next to her. "Catherine?" He asked again, his voice both sympathetic yet demanding an explanation.
Her eyes misted over and she began to cry uncontrollably. The strength he admired had vanished along with the woman he knew. All that was left was this tiny creature; so frail, so vulnerable, and so lost. He held her gently in his arms as if she was as fragile as delicate porcelain - right then she was - rocking her back and forth as he whispered soothing works in her ear. "It's OK Cath. He can't hurt you now. I won't let that happen."
"He killed them Gris," She gasped between sobs. "His wife and child and he fucking murdered them."
"I know."
"He was gonna kill me too."
"But he didn't. I won't let him. I would never let anyone harm you."
"I promised myself that I would never let anyone hurt me like that again," She cried, her words muddled with tears and drink. "Never let anyone make me feel like Eddie did. So weak and pathetic. Like the woman I am."
"You're not weak or pathetic. You're one of the strongest people I ever met. A fighter," He stated firmly.
"But I'm not, Grissom. I'm so tired. So tired of trying to deal. Trying to cope. And it won't end. It never ends."
She continued to weep until there wasn't a single tear left in her to shed. Grissom couldn't stand seeing her like this. He couldn't stand the defeat in her voice. "You can get through this. I know you can. And I'll be here to help you. Like I always have been and will be."
She stared pleadingly up at him. "You swear?"
"I swear," He promised. "Where's Lindsey?"
"At a friend's."
"You want to stay here?"
She nodded weakly. He stroked her cheek as he held her gaze. "I'll be back soon. I'm just going to get you a pillow and blanket."
He left her, and returned to find her sound asleep on the couch. Her face had drained of all the troubles that plagued her waking form. Troubles that she shouldn't have to bare. Gently, he slid the pillow under head and wrapped the blanket around her. He lightly kissed her forehead and stood, watching protectively over her. Then he wandered back to his own bed, where he lay praying. Praying that the new dawn could piece back together the fragments her life lay in.
~*~*~*~*~
You watch him shift in his sleep and stiffen in worry that he'll catch you watching him. But he doesn't wake. You run a weary hand over your face to find two silent tears have tainted your cheeks. You wipe them away.
Still, nothing makes sense. Still, nothing is clear. Your life still lies fragmented in a thousand different pieces, and now he's one of them. Maybe he was already one of them. All you know is that he's the cause of your loneliness and the cure. The cure which remains out of reach. Why? Because the coward you truly are is scared. Scared of losing the last solid thing in your life you have to hold on to.
You walk up beside him, smiling bitter-sweetly at how blissfully unaware he is right now. You lean down and kiss his head.
"I love you Gil."
You've finally said it to ears that never heard the words.
The pain cuts deep into your heart as you turn and leave. Turn and flee. And you're just out of earshot when he turns in his sleep and whispers his reply subconsciously.
"I love you too, Catherine."
A/N: So what do you think? Go on; hit that button! You have an opinion I want to know and reviews will make me happier then I already am. So what are you waiting for? :o)
A/N: Hey. This is another story which isn't connected to 'Rocks In The Road' (which I will be updating soon). Just a little one piecer, I decided to post up to celebrate the end of the school year! (Yay! A whole summer holiday of freedom) So I finally have more time on my hands to work on my fics. Your feedback is much appreciated, cos it helps me to work out what I need to work at. Well R&R and ENJOY!!! - Bex :o)
~*~*~*~*~
The ice-cold water splashes against your skin and you look up into the mirror, staring at the face you don't remember, yet recognise all at the same time, which gazes hauntingly back. The face is weary and worn - aged beyond the years of its wearer. It belongs to you.
The only source of light in the small bathroom are the fragmented beams of dawn, which have crept through the partially-opened blinds. Fragmented like your life. You're sick of the lies that you tell your daughter whilst they tear you up inside. Sick of the fact that the husband you hated will never have justice for his death. Sick of feeling like a lost little child crying out to be found, but who's desperate pleas fall only on deaf ears. Sick of being alone. Maybe that's what has brought you here.
Your head aches, causing the whole world to spin. You grab hold of the sink to steady yourself. When the motion stops, you do up the last few buttons on your shirt and then turn to face the open door. Turn to look into the bedroom adjacent to the room in which you stand, to look at the unmade bed and the man who still rests in it.
You run a tired hand through your hair. How did this happen? How did you come to be here?
~*~*~*~*~
~*~ Two Nights Ago - 11:30pm ~*~
Unlike the majority of the people in Las Vegas who used the night for sleep, Catherine Willows was living her nightmare. She stared numbly down at the long golden hair that fell chaotically across the floor, the sapphire eyes that were wide with shock and pain, and the small body of the child that lay scrawled lifelessly in an unnatural twist at the bottom of the stairs. All Cath could think of was her little girl: this could have been her.
At the top of the stairs - past the blood splatter that stained the cream walls and carpet - was the mother's body. Her face was mottled with angry dark busies that continued down the rest of her figure. Once blond hair was streaked with crimson blood and her cloudy eyes remained open, glazed in a vacant gaze. She had been beaten to death; her daughter had died from a broken neck caused by the fall down the stairs, and the husband had come home to find them.
It was never meant to be this way.
Cath felt a hand tenderly touch her shoulder and she turned her head to be met by two concerned blue eyes. "You alright?"
She gave Grissom a curt nod and turned back to look at the corpse. The young girl's resemblance to Lindsey caused a stab of pain to her heart.
"Maybe you shouldn't handle this case." Grissom suggested gently as if he knew exactly what was going through her mind.
Her eyes snapped back to face him with an irritated expression.
"I'm fine Grissom," She insisted firmly. "I can handle this case. I want this case."
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He knew how stubborn she was. Truth being, she would continue to work on the case whether she had his blessing or not. And this was what bothered him: the fact that she was determined to face the things he wanted to protect her from.
"Where's the husband now?" She asked, ignoring his obvious disapproval of her persistence.
"Mr Beckett is on his way to the station with Brass so we can get a statement." Grissom told her.
"Poor guy," Cath muttered, "Imagine coming home to this."
"Are you positive you can handle this?" Grissom questioned again. She glared at him, but before she could snap angrily at him, he placed his hands steadily on her shoulders. "I'm only asking as a friend Cath. I know cases involving kids upset you and I don't want you to be."
She smiled softly at him, touched by his concern. "I'll be fine Gris." She pulled back and slipped on her latex gloves. "Come on. Let's catch the asshole who did this."
~*~*~*~*~
You stand in the doorway watching the shattered light dance on his peaceful face. He looks so boyish and carefree when he sleeps - a far cry from the man you know.
You think about the concern in his voice and eyes that night. Concern and something else you didn't recognise at the time, but now you do: pity. Pity like he showed you last night. Pity is what made him open that door. Pity is what made him let you in. Only pity.
How did this happen? How did you come to be here?
~*~*~*~*~
Catherine grimly inspected the pictures of the crime scene again. The pain and fear in both of the victims' eyes haunted her. Reminded her. Doctor Robbins concluded from the autopsy that the girl was the first to die, then the mother. Maybe the girl had been knocked down the stair after rushing to help her mother. Maybe her mother had been rushing to help her. But that's all they had: maybe this and maybe that, nothing solid. Nothing to bring justice. She sighed heavily and ran a tired hand through her hair. Why hadn't they caught the guy yet?
"You alright?" She turned to face the owner of the voice, this time to be met with brown eyes. They had just as much concern as the blue ones, but Warrick's always looked at her differently from Grissom's - it was hard to explain.
She forced a nod. "I will be as soon as we catch the guy who did this."
Warrick stared over her shoulder at the pictures and shared her bleak _expression. "We will Cath." Then he gently squeezed her arm. "If you want to talk or if you need me, you know where I am," he told her.
Cath managed a weak smile and nodded in response. Satisfied, he left. This was always the difference between him and Grissom; the way Warrick was able to understand and express human emotions.
~*~*~*~*~
You rethink that thought. Is it true? Maybe Grissom doesn't reveal his emotions because he feels he has to be the strong one. But when it counts, when it really matters, he puts away the blank mask and shows just how much he cares.
He's usually right, too, and you hate that. You know he was definitely right when he told you to wait for him before returning to the crime scene. But did you listen? Now look what's happened.
How did this happen? How did you come to be here?
~*~*~*~*~
Catherine eased the Tahoe into the driveway and shut off the ignition. She sat in the front seat, perfectly still, just staring at the house in front of her. It looked different now in the light of day, and yet completely the same as the night before. The same sinister atmosphere surrounds it like a warning to the horrors trapped inside. She unfastened the seat belt and slid out the vehicle. After taking a deep breath, she braced herself to go back inside.
Soft light fluttered in through gaps in the curtains, making the hall glow eerily. There had to be clue, something to lead her to the killer, and Cath was convinced that it was here. All she had to do was find it.
Something guided her up the stairs - past the reminders of the events belonging to the previous night - and to the door at the end of the landing.
She gently pushed the door open and stared at the lilac walls. The bed was neatly made, as if waiting to be slept in. Soft toys and other tiny treasures were organised in different places around the room. Cath couldn't help but think of her daughter's room, still graced with life, unlike this one.
Without thinking, she sat down on the bed. The action caused the bed to move and knock something from its hiding place under the pillow. Curiously, Cath looked down on the floor and found a plain blue note book lying there. She picked it up and carefully opened it.
The first thing she noticed was the words 'PRIVET' written in large letters on the top page. She ignored this word and continued on to the next page. It hadn't taken Catherine long to realise that this was the deceased girl's diary; pages filled with her inner most thoughts and feelings.
Something in the sea of writing caught her attention: 'I hate him. He thinks I don't know why mum's face is always covered in bruises, why she always sobs herself to sleep, why I hear constant screams from down the corridor when ever he comes home drunk. How wrong he is."
Catherine reread the words, then repeated the actions. She felt nausea begin to rise from the bottom of her stomach as she anxiously read on to find more entries like this. Then she froze.
There was an entry, the last one, with yesterday's date at the top. Her mind screamed at her to stop, but she needed to know. No matter what the truth may do; she had to know it.
"We're leaving. He had a bad day and as usual he's taken it out on mum, and then went out drinking. But she's had enough. I've just finished packing my bag and any moment now I'm gonna hear her call me to leave here for good. I'm so happy that it's hard to explain. Goodbye dad. Thanks for nothing and I hope you rot in hell. Oh Christ! The front door just slammed. He can't be back, not now."
Her final words. Words that placed all the pieces together. Cath's head spun as she imagined that girl running out of her room towards her mother's cries, then being hit and falling backwards down the stairs as she tried to help her. Falling into darkness.
Catherine's head snapped up at the sound of the door opening. She expected to see Grissom; instead she was greeted by two cold eyes. Cold eyes that belong to Mr Beckett. Her blood turned to ice and she quickly tried to hide the diary. But it was too late; he'd already seen it.
His cold eyes darkened dangerously in anger as he advanced towards her. She clutched to book desperately and backed away into the corner. No escape now. That was when the first blow came. It snapped her neck to one side, bringing her to her knees. She shakily touched her stinging left cheek and stared up at him with fearful wide eyes. The same eyes as his wife and child. The same eyes as his previous victims.
And as she looked panicked up at him, she saw someone else. She saw Eddie. She saw memories of nights so many years ago being played out in front of her. Catherine could feel the immense fear and helplessness as she huddled in the corner waiting for the next blow. Wondering how many more she could take before it killed her. Thinking about how death maybe was her only way out.
But the next blow never came. Instead the door slammed opened and someone shoved him against the wall. "Freeze," Brass' voice roared, as he pointed his gun square with Mr Beckett head as Grissom held him against the wall. The rage in his eyes disappeared as he glanced down at the figure curled in a small ball in the corner.
Catherine wasn't aware of what was going on. Everything else had faded out as she remained paralysed to the spot. Just waiting, like she always used to, for the next blow. Followed by the next. After what seemed like a lifetime, she realised that someone was calling her name.
"Catherine?"
She looked cautiously up to be greeted by Grissom worried gaze.
"It's OK now," He reassured her. "Are you OK?"
~*~*~*~*~
Are you OK? What kind of a question was that? You think it was quite obvious that you were not OK, but when you gave him that feebly nod, he dropped it. He let you leave in that state. Leave alone. And of course you did what came naturally.
How did this happen? How did you come to be here?
~*~*~*~*~
Catherine stumbled more then walked along the path. Inside the bar she had just sat numbly by herself, as she tried to drown out the flashbacks with vodka. God, she loved that stuff. Of course she didn't have to be alone if she didn't want to be; many of the men there approached her after a few moments of working up the courage or deciding what dodgy chat up line to use this time. But she knew that their company would solve nothing, not the torture nor the loneliness. So she declined their offers; at the beginning of the binge with a polite 'I'm not in the mood for company right now', then, after quite a few more rounds, with 'Fuck off'.
And now she meandered uncertainly down the familiar route, leading her to the place she always went when she was like this. To her sanctuary.
She battled the doorbell for a couple of moments, the resulted to banging loudly on the door. The door opened after an extended pause.
Grissom stare, bleary eyed, at the woman on his door step; naked from waist up and his hair still ruffled from sleep.
He smelled the alcohol first, then his eyes widened when he registered who it was. "Catherine?"
"The one and only," She replied, her voice slurred. "Are you gonna lemme in or wha?"
Grissom stepped aside to let her enter, then caught her by the arms as she tripped over the step. She giggled drunkenly and he helped her stagger to the couch. Without any resistance, she flopped down and he sank down next to her. "Catherine?" He asked again, his voice both sympathetic yet demanding an explanation.
Her eyes misted over and she began to cry uncontrollably. The strength he admired had vanished along with the woman he knew. All that was left was this tiny creature; so frail, so vulnerable, and so lost. He held her gently in his arms as if she was as fragile as delicate porcelain - right then she was - rocking her back and forth as he whispered soothing works in her ear. "It's OK Cath. He can't hurt you now. I won't let that happen."
"He killed them Gris," She gasped between sobs. "His wife and child and he fucking murdered them."
"I know."
"He was gonna kill me too."
"But he didn't. I won't let him. I would never let anyone harm you."
"I promised myself that I would never let anyone hurt me like that again," She cried, her words muddled with tears and drink. "Never let anyone make me feel like Eddie did. So weak and pathetic. Like the woman I am."
"You're not weak or pathetic. You're one of the strongest people I ever met. A fighter," He stated firmly.
"But I'm not, Grissom. I'm so tired. So tired of trying to deal. Trying to cope. And it won't end. It never ends."
She continued to weep until there wasn't a single tear left in her to shed. Grissom couldn't stand seeing her like this. He couldn't stand the defeat in her voice. "You can get through this. I know you can. And I'll be here to help you. Like I always have been and will be."
She stared pleadingly up at him. "You swear?"
"I swear," He promised. "Where's Lindsey?"
"At a friend's."
"You want to stay here?"
She nodded weakly. He stroked her cheek as he held her gaze. "I'll be back soon. I'm just going to get you a pillow and blanket."
He left her, and returned to find her sound asleep on the couch. Her face had drained of all the troubles that plagued her waking form. Troubles that she shouldn't have to bare. Gently, he slid the pillow under head and wrapped the blanket around her. He lightly kissed her forehead and stood, watching protectively over her. Then he wandered back to his own bed, where he lay praying. Praying that the new dawn could piece back together the fragments her life lay in.
~*~*~*~*~
You watch him shift in his sleep and stiffen in worry that he'll catch you watching him. But he doesn't wake. You run a weary hand over your face to find two silent tears have tainted your cheeks. You wipe them away.
Still, nothing makes sense. Still, nothing is clear. Your life still lies fragmented in a thousand different pieces, and now he's one of them. Maybe he was already one of them. All you know is that he's the cause of your loneliness and the cure. The cure which remains out of reach. Why? Because the coward you truly are is scared. Scared of losing the last solid thing in your life you have to hold on to.
You walk up beside him, smiling bitter-sweetly at how blissfully unaware he is right now. You lean down and kiss his head.
"I love you Gil."
You've finally said it to ears that never heard the words.
The pain cuts deep into your heart as you turn and leave. Turn and flee. And you're just out of earshot when he turns in his sleep and whispers his reply subconsciously.
"I love you too, Catherine."
A/N: So what do you think? Go on; hit that button! You have an opinion I want to know and reviews will make me happier then I already am. So what are you waiting for? :o)